Geoff Page: Two Poems

Ten Weeks

for Alison

I’m like a widower in winter;

ten weeks is a tad too long.

I miss your gossip over coffee,

your skin’s slow, reminiscent song

of when, still not two decades back,

our bodies reached a wild entente

that rose into our minds as well

supplying all a pair might want

when rubbed a little by the years.

We chose to keep our separate houses.

Those first excitements stir me still.

Each week, another dream arouses

souvenirs I thought had cooled.

They flock into this spring and throng.

The day is warm with prunus flowers.

Ten weeks is a tad too long.

            Geoff Page

Assisting police with their enquiries

Assisting police with their enquiries

rarely gives too much away.

Its rhythm is a little wiry

but there are rules it must obey:

the well-worn room for interview;

the “good cop”/“bad cop” sweet routine;

the sergeant who’s all déjà vu;

the constable who’s young and keen;

the lawyer pert beside her client

reminding him about his rights;

the minor player half-defiant

beneath the room’s untiring lights.

He’ll sing in time but keeps no diaries

assisting police with their enquiries.

                            Geoff Page